Not Tonight
by Xehra
Summary: Another sleepless night


Title: Not Tonight   
  
Author: Xehra  
  
E-Mail: xehra1@hotmail.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: Angsty reflection   
  
Code: S  
  
Summary: Another sleepless night. CiaC: Ares - relieved - novel.  
  
Author's Notes: Huge thanks to Chele for the beta.  
  
Permission to Archive: LD, anywhere else please ask :)  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns them all, I'm only playing.  
  
***  
  
It is dark, but I lie awake with my eyes open. Hours, minutes, seconds stretch before me; I know that once again I will not drift off into blissful dreams this night.  
  
My brain buzzes, thoughts whirling in an incessant maelstrom, wandering familiar paths before spinning off on random tangents. Finally, I close my eyes and endeavour to calm the storm in my mind. I concentrate on my breathing, focus on the blackness.  
  
I am acutely aware of my solitary self, the narrowness of my bunk, the emptiness of my bed. Not for the first time, I wonder if my shipmates suffer from this malady. Do they too drown in this sea of personal isolation? Do they long with every fibre of their being for the sensation of another's touch, a warm body beside them, soft breath on their neck?  
  
I try to imagine what it would be like to have a strong arm wrapped protectively around me, to have the comfort of a sleepy embrace, to wake and see my lover beside me on the pillow.  
  
It is many months since Risa, and I often think of Ravis on nights like this. Our time together was a release, an understanding of each other's needs. There had been momentary satisfaction, but not the emotional attachment that I craved.  
  
I open my eyes again but the darkness remains the same.  
  
My thoughts now turn to my fellow crew. Of all aboard, there are only four men whom I have come to know well. The others, not of the bridge contingent, remain nameless to me. There had been no opportunity or real urge to befriend them, or know them better in the months we had shared a ship. I wish I had, however.  
  
Of the four, I had allowed myself to become attached to only one, and that careful attraction had faded with time.  
  
Malcolm had been an enigma; I had reasoned that the soul of a man who took such Ares-like pleasure in destruction would be passionate and powerful. I had hoped that beneath the façade of reserve there dwelled a fighting spirit that would allow me to love him.  
  
Not so; his barriers were too high. I found I lacked the energy to climb them and, seemingly, the power to break them down. I had carefully disentangled myself with a twinge of regret, my heart aching with the loss of *what could have been*. Yet, partly, I am relieved.   
  
The other three I found I simply could not connect with.   
  
Archer has a forceful personality, but possesses a narrowness of mind that irks me. His stubborn nature and streak of arrogance makes him an unsuitable choice, in my mind, to lead a venture such as this. But he is physically engaging and I sometimes let myself fantasise about his strong arms around me. In my mind, a nightcap in his quarters leads to an invitation to stay for breakfast. It is not a novel fantasy, only one born out of my own frustration. His rank makes him untouchable however, and therefore safe to dream about.   
  
My lips twist into a wry smile at the thought of being privileged enough to call him 'Jonathan'.   
  
Commander Tucker is attractive also, but again my heart tells me he is not the one I search for. He is so obliging, so genial and easy, possesses a nature so friendly that I have a hard time distinguishing his friends from his acquaintances. He is charming to one and all, and never have I received more than a moment's worth of his attention than was my due. It is this fact that distances me; if he harbours any feelings beyond those of friendship and respect they are undetectable. One small ember of hope still burns in my heart for Trip though, and sometimes I permit myself the indulgence of imagining myself massaging his bare shoulders after a hard day fixing some unnamed part of the warp core.  
  
I sigh stare at the ceiling. These are just idle fantasies, daydreams to luxuriate in - imaginings I allow myself in a desperate attempt to fight the wave that carries me across an ocean of solitude.  
  
I wonder if Travis, my fellow Ensign, swims in this same sea. Of the bridge contingent, I feel closest to him. We are both experts in our field, in roles that go largely unlauded. We sometimes share knowing grins when Archer is predicably ruffled by something, or Malcolm proposes blowing something up. But I feel that too early I allowed myself to slip into comfortable camaraderie with Mayweather, and that any chance of becoming intimate has been washed away by the pattern of our brother-sister relationship. Still, sometimes to while away the long hours of nightshift I picture straddling him at the helm, allowing his expert hands to navigate the curves of my hips.  
  
I throw back the covers, finally convinced I will not sleep. I throw on some clothes and pad quietly through the silent ship to the mess hall.   
  
Curling up into a window seat with a warm mug of tea, I contemplate the blackness outside.  
  
I never understood Archer's fascination for the stars. To me, they are distant, untouchable. Even here amongst them, I feel the span between these tiny points of light and myself.  
  
Watching the stars gives me no comfort, but perhaps one of my Four will find me here, alone with my tea and my thoughts. Maybe my loneliness will awaken some deeper emotion in their hearts, even if it is sympathy.  
  
Not tonight. I sit for many hours staring blankly into space. My tea is cold; I am drowning again. A solitary tear slides down my cheek, and I hate Enterprise with all my heart.  
  
I want to go home.  
  
END 


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